Высота [Vysota] [English translation]

They seized hold of the height, like something of their own.

Firing of mortars, heavy fire ...

And we all climbed up on it in crowds,

Like to a buffet in a railway station.

And the cry "Hurrah" became torpid in the mouth,

As we swallowed the bullets.

Seven times we occupied this hill -

Seven time we left it.

And nobody wants the attack again,

The earth is like burnt kasha ...

At the eighth time we get it for good -

We get what's ours, our vital interests!

But one can go round the side of it, -

And why do we cling to it?!

But all the ways of fate obviously

Cross at this height.

• Artist:Vladimir Vysotsky